


What's Past is Past

by Pen_to_parchment



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bombilo's Café, F/M, Making Up, Song: Begin Again (Taylor Swift), Songfic, jeyna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25195360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pen_to_parchment/pseuds/Pen_to_parchment
Summary: Jason schedules a date. Sure, it's under false pretenses, but the thought is there. With all of his memories back following a breakup with Piper, he's determined to sort things out back home. His first order of business is to warm the heart that had grown cold while he was away. Though he finds that to be more difficult than he anticipated. But anything (including a daughter of Bellona) can be thawed with enough stories, hot chocolate, and the occasional encouragement from a two-headed barista wingman.[edited]It was another familiar sight. He could almost imagine their table was the desk in the Principia, that Reyna was flipping through endless proposals from Octavian, that, any second now, she would look up and catch him staring before telling him to go back to work. Then she would return to reading with a blush coloring her cheeks, and he would pretend he didn’t notice. Instead, she closed the book with a thud.
Relationships: Jason Grace/Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano
Comments: 21
Kudos: 33





	What's Past is Past

**Author's Note:**

> I present to you the brainchild of my stubborn talent to forget Trials of Apollo ever happened. However, there is one right thing the series did because there is now a named canon café in New Rome. And what better place to host Jason and Reyna's second first date? Also, fun fact, in the original draft, there was one line: "He almost made her drop her croissant," which I almost left in there before realizing that was a grave mistake. :/

As if everyone in New Rome didn’t already know their prodigal son had returned, the bell above Jason’s head signaled his arrival to the café. 

Bombilo’s was just as he had (recently) remembered. White stucco covered the front of the building, some of it chipping away to reveal the brick underneath. Above, window boxes spilled ivy and flowers down from the second story. The café featured the same red-tiled roof as the rest of the city. Cobblestone echoed under his feet and stretched into the narrow alleys on either side of the building. He breathed deeply. The air around the place never seemed to be able to shake the scent of coffee grounds. It exuded an altogether warming, familiar feeling to him. This was something he had done hundreds of times before. Of course, there was the fact that he was there alone, but that wouldn’t be the case for long. Hopefully. 

She would be there early, he knew. And he had to be earlier. So he ignored the eyes following him as he approached the two-headed barista. Patrons stared at him with a mix of wariness and respect as he passed. That had been his general welcome back into the Legion. On the whole, almost everyone was aware he was different, but was happy to have him back. Except for one person, whose mind he was intending to change. 

Bombilo gave him four times the judgment, both sets of eyes glaring at him. His shop had been one of Jason’s favorite haunts, and he imagined the place had seen a substantial loss in profits in the last eight months. What without the morning, afternoon, and midnight coffees and pastries he and Reyna bought every day. At least, he pretended that was the only reason. 

“Two hot chocolates, please.” The barista’s eyes lit up in interest. “And some croissants,” he added. At that, twin smiles spread on both Bombilo’s faces. He wiped the denarii off of the counter and winked at him with two eyes. Though he might’ve been blinking. It was hard to tell. 

With his order in hand, Jason made his way to a small table in the corner. Over the years, they had probably occupied every seat and booth in the café. Still, he settled down at the table nestled just between the coffee bar and the brick wall. He needed this conversation to be private. 

He soon realized that maybe he had arrived _too_ early. Yes, he had beaten her there, but he also now had ample time to worry about how to talk to her. She had welcomed him back with all the professionalism and decorum that her position required. Though with none of the warmth that he thought their previous relationship warranted. He didn’t blame her. After all, he hadn’t given her much time, before or after the Second Great War. Between Piper and Gaea, the battle, and its aftermath, he could understand why she wasn’t thrilled to talk to him when he returned. Now, he had to talk to _her_. But time was slowly taking its toll on his patience.

Ten minutes in and he was bouncing his knee in agitation. He flipped through his sketchbooks, filled with hurried drawings of temples and shrines and little notes in the margins. He had used Pontifex duties as an excuse to meet her at the café. Sure, he felt a bit guilty, but those days, she only ever agreed to see him on official business. Senate meetings and building surveys were all the time he spent with her. Too little time to say everything he needed to. But just enough time to regret not saying anything at all. 

Twenty minutes in found him becoming hyper-aware of every chime of the bell above the door. Their hot chocolate was going cold. He sighed and looked out the building’s arched windows in time to see a streak of purple flash by. _There_. Just about sprinting to the door, he tore it open and practically dragged Reyna in, her grip still firm on the handle. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise as she faltered in the threshold, almost colliding with his chest. She cleared her throat and smoothed out her hair. “Thank you, but that was unnecessary.” 

Jason could almost feel the barista’s disappointment burning through his skull from behind. 

He wanted to kiss her. This was the first time he had seen her knowing _everything_. But she still didn’t know that. After Piper, after the last eight months, he wanted to start making up for lost time as soon as possible. Though something told him she wouldn’t appreciate that sentiment in a café full of patrons. Most of which were staring at the door. 

“You’re early,” she noted, with something akin to surprise. “Am I late?” 

Jason cracked a smile. “Of course not.” The girl had a stubborn tendency to be punctual at all costs. He led her back to their table. If she felt the eyes following them too, she didn’t show it. As she neared her seat, he pulled the chair out, prepared to help her. 

She gave him a pointed look. “Remember what I said about the door?”

“I’m guessing this is also unnecessary?” He scratched the back of his neck and flushed. At the coffee bar, he glimpsed Bombilo facepalm, one hand cradling each head. 

“You learn quickly,” she said flatly and seated herself. He didn’t miss the way she eyed the drinks and desserts on the table. He knew she wasn’t expecting theirs to be a long meeting. She had come to drop off the temple contracts and discuss his blueprints in a purely professional setting. And she was certainly dressed for it. She was clothed in full praetor regalia, a purple toga draped over a white tunic. No armor, though. He could only hope the same could be said about her attitude towards him. 

“I have the building permits. Construction should be ready to start by the end of the month.” She slid him a manila folder containing the documents, maneuvering it around their cups and the platter in the middle of the table. “You said you had designs for me to approve?” She sounded drained, as though she would do anything to make the bell above the door ring again on her way out. 

“Yeah. I just need to finalize some materials, and I can get a list for you.” She accepted his notebooks wordlessly and thumbed through page after page without much comment. He just watched her gaze flit over his notes. It was another familiar sight. He could almost imagine their table was the desk in the Principia, that Reyna was flipping through endless proposals from Octavian, that, any second now, she would look up and catch him staring before telling him to go back to work. Then she would return to reading with a blush coloring her cheeks, and he would pretend he didn’t notice. Instead, she closed the book with a thud.

She gave him a tight smile. “They’re good,” she offered. “Nice work, Pontifex. Get back to me with the materials list, and you’ll have full authorization from the Senate.” He stared back at her, wondering if she would take her chance and leave. To no one’s surprise and to Jason’s disappointment, she did. After a beat, “If you’ll excuse me, I have other business to attend to.” She moved to get up and had pushed her chair halfway back in when he grabbed her hand. 

Bombilo’s eyes shot to their table. One set of eyes regarded him imploringly. The other two were fixed on the café door, wordlessly asking if he should barricade the exit. Jason firmly believed the barista would do anything to get his two most loyal customers visiting together again. 

“Stay for a minute.” 

Her eyes flickered to their joined hands before meeting his. If she hadn’t noticed the stares when she walked in, she did then. She straightened from her awkward half-standing posture and tried not to make a scene. “Did you need anything else?” 

“No.” He didn’t drop her hand.

“Then why—?” 

Jason felt a short pang of guilt for his next words, but if anything could keep her there with him, it was her profound sense of self-sufficiency. “Because I bought these for you, and the least you can do is help me finish them.” He cut cleanly across her sentence, taking pleasure in watching her internal debate. He smirked smugly and nudged her chair back out with his leg.

She knew he had trapped her. The sour look on her face told him as much. Eventually, though, her pride outweighed her aversion to him, and she sat down again. She laced her fingers around the lukewarm cup in front of her but made no move to drink from it. 

“It’s not poisoned, Reyna.” He rolled his eyes at her out of fondness, rather than actual exasperation. Then an idea occurred to him. “But, when in Rome…” He raised his own cup to his lips, eyes peeking over the rim, silently begging her to voice the response they both knew was on the tip of her tongue.

 _I remember_ , he wanted to scream. 

A sharp intake of breath and she allowed herself a sip of her drink. “...You never know.” 

He threw his head back laughing, more out of relief than anything else. Across from him, she expertly hid a smile behind her hot chocolate. “You always laughed far too hard at that.” 

He shrugged. “I think you’re funny.” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “In the scariest and most intimidating way possible,” he amended. 

_This feels more like home._ It had been running joke between them since their praetor campaigns. Whenever he brought her drinks, she would jokingly accuse him of trying to eliminate her, being his political opponent. By way of poison, no less. A disturbingly common cause of governmental deaths in ancient times. Rumor had it, the practice had carried over into the modern Legion life, on occasion. 

“To be fair, you were my only real competition in that election. It wouldn’t have looked suspicious at all of you just…” He spread his hands. “Bit it at muster one night.” 

“And then what? You would’ve been stuck with Octavian. Play your cards better than that, Grace,” she laughed lightly. It was a pleasant surprise, how easily they were able to fall back into their old banter and inside jokes. No longer the stilted, strained conversations they’d been having since his return. He beamed at her before she dropped her gaze to study the wood patterns on the table. 

He swallowed nervously, aware that she was still wary of him. “So… do I need to sample these for you too, or do you trust me not to try to kill you?” He ran his finger along the edge of the croissant platter. 

Reyna hummed. “Considering I have no plans to run for Pontifex any time soon, I suppose I’m safe.” She plucked one of the pastries from the plate and ripped a piece off. “Then again, you might want to regain that Praetorship.” He flashed her a disapproving look. Her face seemed to change for a moment as she relished the flavors, and he imagined it had been a while since she had found time to stop by the café. 

“Do you remember what we used to do with these?” He grabbed a croissant for himself, idly peeling back layer after layer and tossing it from hand to hand. 

“Vividly. Do you?” she challenged. He felt hurt for a second, though he reasoned, he probably deserved it. 

“Bombilo would send us up to the roof with leftover croissants to feed the eagles. We’d just throw chunks off and they’d try to catch them in the air. I remember you tried hand-feeding one, once. Do you still have that scar on your hand, by the way?” 

Under the table, she traced the faint white mark gracing the back of her hand. Her voice came out as a guarded whisper. “What else do you remember?” 

“Everything.” 

All chatter in the café ground to a halt. Nearby customers dropped any pretense of minding their own business. So much for privacy.

She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time since he stepped off of the ship over eight months ago. Realization dawned in her eyes before they hardened. “So what is this?” She gestured to the space between them, almost irritably. “What do you want? Pity? Absolution? Is this some kind of apology—?” 

“No!” That little outburst garnered odd looks all around. Suffice to say their corner table suddenly became a subject of great interest. “I mean, yes. Yes, I want to apologize. I’m _so_ sorry.” Jason hung his head. “Probably more than you want to believe. And I’m not gonna ask you to forgive me. That would just be you pushing me away again.” He chanced a look up from the table, which he then found just as fascinating as she did. Dark eyes glinted dangerously in question. “But what would we be if I hadn’t disappeared? This would just be… a normal date, right? I wouldn't have had to lie to get you to meet me here?” 

“So you _did_ lie,” she muttered, though it was more of a statement than an accusation, and he supposed she wanted to latch onto anything other than what he wanted to talk about. 

He flashed a pained smile, shaking his head. “You already knew that. And you still came.” Then, earnestly, “You asked me what I wanted? I want this to be a normal date. I want everything to make sense, like before. I want this...” He took her hands, pressed palm-up on the table, and she was too numb to even think of pulling them away. “To feel like home again. If you’ll let it.” 

“No.” 

He could’ve sworn the elderly woman at the next table gasped. Not that he blamed her. Sure, he’d expected Reyna would resist, (she’d always been very good at protecting herself) but what he hadn’t wanted was a flat-out refusal. 

“It can’t be like that. Like before...” He wished he could say he felt surprised. The truth was, he’d been fully aware of, if not prepared _for_ , the possibility that she would respond that way. She had every right to, after all. Shaking her head, she added, “Too much has happened.” 

He managed to choke out an “Okay,” before she spoke again. 

“But it doesn’t have to be like after, either.” 

He looked up, then. 

To her eyes, the expression there was reminiscent of the one he wore the first time she actually spoke back to him. The same surprised hopefulness from back then resided there now. The look that made it impossible to follow instinct and lock her next words close to her heart and keep them from clawing their way up her throat and out of her mouth. She realized later that those words stayed the same, too. “We can be friends.” 

To his ears, the words brought to mind a different, though equally tentative extension of friendship. He wasn’t sure which one he loved more. But he’s thankful for that. Because being friends with her would be better than staying whatever they were when they walked through the door. It was less than he wanted, but, he knew, more than he deserved. He was prepared to wholeheartedly accept that offer when he remembered that no matter how much time passed, she had always found ways to surprise him. That time, to the joy of them both, was no different. 

Reyna seemed to notice their fingers still intertwined on the table’s surface. “But… if we turn into something else down the line, I wouldn’t be wholly opposed to it.” She stared down into her cup, and judging by her blush, she had grown about as warm as its contents. 

She did him one better. She gave them both a chance to begin again. Not to pick up from where they left off and pick up the pieces of the things they broke. To start over without the shadows of Charleston and secrets and wars looming over them. What she gave him was an invitation to start over. And he thinks, that there, sitting across from her in a café, with wisps of steam curling around her face, a barista swooning at the counter, and an air of _home_ that made his hot chocolate taste that bit sweeter, was as good a place as any to do just that.


End file.
